


Suspended Animation

by QueensJenn



Category: Ylvis
Genre: AU No Wives No Kids, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensJenn/pseuds/QueensJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly before filming begins on IKMY Season 4, a fluke accident tears the brothers' lives apart - and maybe also their future as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. July, 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for awhile. Any similarities to recent Dritt File entries are coincidental.
> 
> * Usually I'm against RPF death fics. But this time...let's just say, all bets are off. *

July, 2014.

 

Bård wouldn’t stop tugging at his collar, and it was driving Vegard crazy. 

 

There was no reason it should drive him crazy, of course, but there was also no reason Bård should be fiddling with it. It wasn’t a new shirt, there were no seams or tags or anything to scratch him, and he just wouldn’t stop playing with it. 

 

The taxi was hot. He’d put it down to that. The driver had apologized when they’d gotten in, saying that the air conditioning was broken, and that they’d have to tough it out.

 

(He could at least give them a discount then, Bård had grumbled, and Vegard had silently agreed)

 

The day was hot, even for late July. The temperature on the dashboard put it at almost 30 degrees, which was, if you asked Vegard, obscene. The only thing anyone should be doing in this sort of weather is staying inside with the cold air blasting. Not sitting in a hot taxi, on the way to a TVNorge fall season preview event, which promised to be even more boring and stuffy.

 

They’d been dreading it for weeks. But, as their manager, as well as several network executives reminded them, they couldn’t exactly skip it. Especially now that they were the crown jewel in TVNorge’s collection; the young comedians who’d accidentally become world famous stars, in a story too good to be true. They’re going to be paraded around like prized pets.

 

It gave him an uncomfortable shiver when he thought too hard about it, so maybe that was the real reason Bård was pissing him off so much. 

 

“What’s wrong with your shirt?” he asked at last.

 

“What?”

 

“You’ve been picking at your collar the whole way here. Something wrong?”

 

Bård shrugged. “I dunno, why shouldn’t I? Why do you care?”

 

“I don’t care,” Vegard lied.  

 

Bård huffed a sigh and stretched against the seat. “Fuck, it’s so hot. Why do we have to go to this thing again? I wish Calle would be there. Why’d he have go off again anyway?”

 

Vegard just shook his head. Bård knew the answers to all those things, and he didn’t have the patience to go over it yet again with him, and it would only serve to remind him of the other things he didn’t want to face just yet. 

 

He knew TVNorge had sent out the audition notice for their new sidekick. Unhappy with the result of the last time the brothers had had to replace Calle, the network had acted pre-emptively and taken it out of their hands. They’d be consulted, of course; hell they might even be given “final say” (so long as it agreed with the executives’ decision). But really, it was a crapshoot they were facing, and Vegard didn’t put a whole lot of stock in a bunch of suits who were mainly interested in the bottom line finding someone who would work, preferably for the least amount of money.

 

“Why did you even wear that shirt?” he asked, as Bård’s hand went to the hem again.

 

“Why do you even care? What’s wrong with my shirt?” he asked, with a rush of annoyed breath. “Just leave it!”

 

“I’m just hot,” he admitted. “And I’m not looking forward to this.”

 

“Who ever does,” Bård answered, rolling his eyes.

 

At least he made a conscious effort to keep his hands still. Vegard would give him credit for that at least.

 

The event was being held in an upscale restaurant downtown instead of the main TVNorge offices, and neither brother was sure what to make of it. On the one hand, it meant even more mingling and socializing than usual. On the other hand: free food, and plenty of it.

 

They knew it was impolite, at least, to go straight for the food, no matter how tempting, and allowed themselves to be pulled into an impromptu photoshoot with several senior network execs. 

 

“I’ve been meaning to talk with you two.” Vegard didn’t recognize the man, but he was wearing an obviously expensive suit, so clearly he was someone they needed to pay very close attention to. “Are you going to be available within the next few days? We think we’ve made a decision on the new addition to your team, and would like your final input.”

 

_Final input,_ Vegard snorted to himself, casting a side-eyed glance at Bård. He knew as well as Vegard did that it wasn’t really a question; they _would be_ free in the next few days if they knew what was good for them.

 

“Of course,” Bård stepped in smoothly. Vegard let him talk; somehow he had the knack of charming the higher-ups. He always was, always had been more able to connect with others, more able to talk to them and get them to respond in kind. 

 

“Excellent. I think you’ll like who we’ve chosen for you.”

 

The words rankled. _Who we’ve chosen for you_. Wasn’t that just the story of their lives these days? The thing about success no one ever tells you is that rather than give you more freedom, it only takes it away. Suddenly, you’re at the mercy of management and publicists, a pawn in the negotiations between people you’ve never met for programs you don’t care about. 

 

“I’m sure we will,” Bård said. “We’re looking forward to it.”

 

“You must be getting excited,” the exec said. “If I’m not mistaken, filming will be starting soon?”

 

“In September,” Bård confirmed. “Just enough time to get our new sidekick broken in.”

 

“And what song will you be releasing this year that will go viral?”

 

“It’s a secret,” Bård smiled, his eyes twinkling. 

 

It was bullshit, of course, but the suit didn’t need to know that. 

 

“Well, if you’re ever stuck for ideas, you can always make another animal song. How hard can it be, eh.” The man smiled, as though it was the wittiest thing he’d ever said, and the brothers played along and laughed politely, then excused themselves.

 

The food table was relatively unoccupied, and they’d already been there for 45 minutes, so it seemed as good a time as any.

 

“This is what it’s gonna be like from now on,” Bård mused softly. 

 

“It’s not so bad,” Vegard answered. “We can deal with it.”

 

Bård didn’t answer. He didn’t have to; his thoughts were written plainly on his face. To anyone else, he had a look of polite disinterest, but Vegard could read the conflicting emotions below the surface.

 

“It’s not so bad,” he echoed at last, but there was no warmth in his voice, no confidence. “We can deal with it. It’ll die down.”

 

_Like we’ve dealt with it already?_ Vegard could hear the unspoken words. _We haven’t so much dealt with it as we have just struggled to keep up with it._  

 

Instead, he said, “you’re probably right.” And his voice held as much conviction as Bård’s had. 

 

Bård gave him a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. _I’m tired,_ it seemed to say, and Vegard shivered despite the heat. 

 

Suddenly desperate to diffuse the mood, he turned to survey the buffet table. “What are they bribing us with this time?”

 

“No sushi, don’t care,” Bård said, following his brother’s lead and shaking off his low mood. It wasn’t the time for it; not when they needed to put on their professional faces and ‘work the party’, as it were. It was as much a part of the job as the actual performance; in a way it was _harder_ than the actual performance. 

 

Vegard picked up a plate and handed it to Bård, who took it, despite his flippant dismissal. He looked over the offerings skeptically, then chose a few morsels.

 

“I’m not even sure I know what these are,” he muttered.

 

Vegard agreed with a small snort of laughter. No matter how many of these high-class events they were invited to, the food was always gourmet and not easily identifiable. 

 

He turned away as Bård eyed up one of the bites on his plate; turned away for only a second, but it was a second too long, because —

 

“ _Vegard_ ” Bård whispered, and Vegard knew that everything was going wrong because he’d never heard a tone like that before, ever in his life, and he turned back around.

 

Later on, he would reflect that it seemed cliche, but _time really did slow down_ as Bård fell to his knees, his breathing coming in short gasps. At once, Vegard was on his knees beside him. 

 

_He’s choking_ , he thought wildly, desperately trying to recall the first aid training he must have had at some point, not recently, of course not, that would be too easy. He raised his hand to pound on his back, but even as he did so, he knew he was wrong. Bård wasn’t choking.

 

“I need help!” the words were out of him before he knew it, and later on, he’d hate himself for the thought that flashed across his mind: _the network executives are watching this._ It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, Bård isn’t choking he’s having a reaction to something, and he’s completely powerless.

 

Bård’s breath was a wheezing gasp that seemed to get shallower by the second. Vegard prayed he was wrong, but he knew he wasn’t. They had maybe minutes, and he was paralyzed: wait and hope that someone had had the sense to call for an ambulance, or try to drag him to the hospital himself.

 

_We took a taxi_ , he thought, calmly, too calmly. Why could he remember that and not what to do when someone was going into anaphylaxis?

 

_Please, please let someone have had the sense to call…_

 

He was sheltering Bård with his own body, against the curious stares of everyone else in the room. Why were they just standing there? His panic turned into a rush of anger.

 

Distantly he heard the doors bang open, and then someone was grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him away, away from his little brother, lying prone and motionless on the floor, looking small and sick and…

 

_Dead_ , his mind supplied helpfully. _Dead, dead, dead._

 

He was just alive a minute ago. Alive, talking, bitching, eating…

 

Logically, he knew that Bård must have some signs of life; paramedics won’t work on a dead body after all; they won’t insert IVs and apply oxygen and do CPR, and…oh God…

 

Every nerve was screaming at him to turn away. He thought he might go insane if he had to watch his brother die. But he stayed where he was, staring helplessly. It felt like a betrayal if he closed his eyes. Bård needed him. Somehow, in some way, if he just kept watching, it would be okay. Bård wouldn’t dare die in front of his older brother.

 

He didn’t understand the medical terms flying back and forth, things like SATS and O2 levels and the names of medications, each one as impossible remember or pronounce than the last. Somewhere in the back of his mind he tried to squirrel it away to look up later; the part of him that looked at the world from a purely scientific interest, but it was gone as soon as he tried to recall it. 

 

Someone pulled him back, and for a minute he had the wild hope that it was Calle. But when he stumbled and turned, it was only another man in a suit, another faceless, nameless man who was the embodiment of everything that was wrong.

 

“Let them get by,” the man said, but Vegard pulled away angrily. The man’s voice was both condescending and imperious and he needed to get away. He needed to follow Bård.

 

“I’m his brother,” he tried to explain as they loaded Bård into the waiting ambulance. “He needs…I have to…”

 

“You can follow us,” one of the medics said, politely but firmly pushing him away. They _slammed_ the doors shut and Vegard had the sudden, awful feeling that that was the last time he’d ever see his brother alive. 

 


	2. July, 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes before we begin:
> 
> 1\. I managed to respond to comments! I am proud of myself. (it's not that I don't love comments, bc I DO, I'm just super bad at responding to them, but I'm trying to get better.)
> 
> 2\. I'm taking major artistic licence with the medical stuff, which leads to:
> 
> 3\. Any similarities between this and Tvist's work "What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger" is completely coincidental! (This chapter especially; I had it planned out before I read hers, I swear!)
> 
> 3b. You should be reading "What Doesn't Kill You...", especially if you want more realistic medical details than you'll find here XD (And also because it's amazing Bård angst!)

July, 2014

 

In retrospect, Vegard probably could have handled the phone call better, but it’s hard to think when you’re scared out of your mind. 

 

“I don’t know.” It’s all he could say, over and over again, and each time hurt more than the last, because he was left with the distinct impression that he _should_ know, he was older and more responsible, his mother was depending on him to keep control of things and know what was going on.

 

“An allergic reaction,” he tried to explain. “To what? I don’t know. I don’t know what he ate, I didn’t see, I was looking away.”

 

He’d told all this to the medics as well, of course. But then it was merely frustrating; now it feels like a betrayal.

 

“They’re still working on him.” He didn’t know how long was normal and how long was _too long_ and how long meant that they were simply stalling to tell him his brother was dead. He’d never even looked at his watch since before the whole thing started.

 

“ _Should we come down?”_

 

The automatic response is to say _no, we’re fine_. How long had he and Bård been living on their own, in Oslo, without their parents hanging over them? They were both fiercely independent and hated having their parents constantly looking over their shoulder, worrying about them and questioning them. He knew what it would be like if they came; they would be just as helpless here as in Bergen; Bård wouldn’t want them hanging around when he was trying to recover. He’d be embarrassed and surly and —

 

“Yeah. You’d better come.”

~~~

 

Four hours later, Vegard greeted his parents in the waiting room of the Oslo hospital. 

 

“I still don’t know anything,” he said, and forced himself not to look away when his mother’s face fell. 

 

“It’s been five hours…”

 

The words hung in the air; it didn’t need to be said. 

 

“This wasn’t your fault,” his mother said softly, but Vegard knew he could hear the questioning undertone. Wasn’t it? _Was there something you could have done to prevent this? Why don’t you know anything about this? Why didn’t you prevent this?_

 

“Maybe I can go and ask someone,” he suggested, but the words lack conviction. He was tired. Talking was a chore; standing up seemed impossible. He wanted desperately for her to decline his offer. He was consumed by the childish hope that now that his mother was here, she would take care of things. She could make everything okay.

 

“That might be a good idea,” she answered. 

 

Vegard nodded and stood up. His body felt heavy and sluggish against the task he’d been set, and he shook his head to clear it. The result would be the same whether he went and asked or not; the only thing that would change would be how fast they got the bad news.

 

Because it could only be bad news. He didn’t know how he knew, but he _did._ It was one of those things he never questioned anymore. There was an invisible tie between him and Bård, a gossamer thread that was stronger than steel. They knew instinctively what the other was thinking and feeling. If one was hurt, the other hurt too.

 

The woman in pink scrubs at the reception desk barely even looked up at him as he approached.

 

“I’m looking for information about my brother. He was brought in awhile ago, and we haven’t heard anything yet, and I was wondering —“

 

“Name?”

 

“Bård. Ylvisåker,” he added hurriedly, an unreasonably hot flush of shame rushing over him at his slip. 

 

She checked her computer. “They’re still monitoring him. The doctor will come talk to you when they’re ready.”

 

_Ready for what?_ Vegard thought as he turned away from the desk. 

 

“What did she say?” his mother asked as soon as he sat back down.

 

“She said they’d come and get us when they know more.” 

 

“Are you sure? Can you ask someone else? Maybe you can ask someone else.”

 

“There’s no one else,” he said wearily, trying to turn away in his seat. 

 

“There has to be someone else who knows something, Vegard. You need to ask someone else.”

 

He bit his tongue, trying to remind himself that his mother was scared and upset, and trying to reason with her at this point would be futile. He got up, heading back to the reception desk, but instead took a left and went through the doors to the outside. It was far too stuffy in the waiting room.

 

The air was still muggy and overly warm outside, and wasn’t as refreshing as he needed it to be. If anything it was worse; the warm, damp air was thick and it felt hard to breathe, and the more he tried to draw in air the harder it seemed to get, until he felt like he was gasping just to stay conscious and the only thing running through his mind was _this was how Bård felt._

 

That thought shocked him out of it. _Get a hold of yourself. This is not about you._

 

Still, he had to stand there, hands on knees, for a few more minutes, trying to get his racing heart under control and his thoughts to stop spinning. When he finally felt more steady, he stood up and looked at his phone. Nearly ten minutes had passed. He was pretty sure his mother had realized by now that he hadn’t gone to find someone else to ask.

 

Briefly he debated about actually finding someone else before going back to the waiting room, but before he could even finish the thought he was hit with an overwhelming feeling of defeat and exhaustion. He just couldn’t face talking to anyone else, and he hated himself for being so weak.

 

His mother didn’t say anything when he came back into the waiting room and took his seat beside her. He wondered if it was out of sympathy, or disappointment. He wondered if he should say something instead, but what? Clearly there was no news yet. 

 

Five-and-a-half hours. It didn’t need to be said anymore. Vegard knew he should be crying, should be upset, should be doing anything other than sitting there, feeling blank.

 

~~~

 

_The waiting room is stark white. He wonders why this is - the theory of colours states that blue iscalming, so shouldn’t it follow that the waiting room should be blue?_

 

_He’s lost track of time. It might be six hours, it might be ten. Maybe it’s been an eternity. He can’t tell anymore; thoughts and feelings keep flitting out of his reach. The only thing that’s everpresent is the smell of antiseptic and the quiet murmuring of the other people in the room. He wonders idely what their stories are - if they’re waiting for news of a loved one as well, or if…_

 

_Funny how he thinks of Bård as a ‘loved one’. It’s true, of course - Bård is the most important person in his life, but that’s not their way, they don’t voice those thoughts. It’s easier to hide behind a layer of sarcasm and humour than admit to real feelings._

 

_He wonders if he’s ever told Bård that he loves him. He wonders if Bård even knows._

 

_And just like that, it becomes a fiery, burning ideal in his mind. Fuck humour, and fuck their emotional squeamishness; as soon as they’re allowed in to see him he’s going to tell Bård he truth, about everything he means to him. And it gives him hope to continue._

 

_He isn’t sure when the doctor appears in front of them, only that he did at some point, and the expression on his face is grim._

 

_“No,” Vegard says dully, before the doctor can even speak, because he doesn’t_ have _to speak, Vegard knows._

 

_“Bård was very sick when he came in.” The words wash over him, meaningless and terrible. “We did everything we could. We gave him medications, did CPR, and shocked his heart.”_

 

_“No,” he says again._

 

_“But it was too late. Bård’s brain was without oxygen for too long, and we couldn’t save him. Despite our best efforts, he died.”_

 

_His parents are crying, but Vegard doesn’t say a word._

 

_~_  
  
They bury Bård in Bergen.  

 

_The funeral is simple and tasteful, and most importantly, closed to the public. It’s full of friends and relations, half of whom Vegard has never met, and he’s sure Bård never had either. The news of his death had flown around the world in the blink of an eye - Vegard himself wrote the death notice, the one thing he’d never imagined having to do. Cards and flowers and tokens of sympathy had started pouring in to the office overnight and it’s all he can do to ask the staff to shut it away in a closet somewhere. He can’t deal with it yet. He can’t even face going in Bård’s empty office._

 

_He visits the grave every day. The first few times, he can only bear to stay a few minutes, unable to cope with the visual reminder of all he has lost. But nothing feels right without his brother at his side, and he starts spending more and more time, until he feels like this is all he has ever known._

 

_He doesn’t know how or when he arrived at the hangar. Someone forced him to go; maybe his father or maybe his friends who all said he was spending too much time at the graveside, who said that he needed to start living again. He doesn’t remember starting the plane or taking off, he only knows that suddenly he’s in the air, and it’s easy, it’s oh-so-easy to tip the nose of the plane into a downward spiral…_

 

~~

 

Vegard snapped awake with a yell, heart pounding. For a moment he felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he knew everyone in the waiting room was staring at him. He screwed his eyes closed —

 

then snapped them open again as images form the dream came back to him.

 

A dream. That’s all it was. Of course it was - Bård wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be.

 

“Anything yet?” he asked, his voice raspy. Then, glancing at his phone. “An hour? How could you have let me sleep for an entire hour?!”

 

“Because you needed it,” his mother replied. “And no, nothing yet.”

 

He groaned in frustration. _A dream,_ he reminded himself. _Just a dream._

 

“Ylvisåker?”

 

The call cut through his consciousness and immediately he was on his feet, his parents following slightly after. The nurse waved for them to follow her. 

 

Vegard felt like his limbs were made of lead, and his breathing was fast. But most of all, and the thing he felt most ashamed for, was the overwhelming feeling of _relief_. Whatever would happen now, at least the waiting would be over. 

 

The nurse led them into a small room where a doctor was waiting for them. He was a small, balding man, and his expression was very grim. Vegard felt his heart speed up. 

 

“What’s going on?” he demanded. He supposed he should have waited for his parents to take the lead, but he couldn’t stand it anymore.

 

“Please, sit down.” The doctor indicated the three chairs in the room.

 

“Just tell us!”

 

“Okay.” The doctor put up his hands in a calming manner. “Bård was very sick when he was brought in.”

 

“No,” Vegard said dully.

 

“He was in full blown anaphylaxis, and he had stopped breathing. He was also experiencing ventricular arrhythmia. ”

 

“No,” Vegard said again. He felt like his own throat was closing up.

 

“We administered medication and fluids, performed CPR, and intubated to support his airway. It became necessary to shock his heart as well. But Bård is a fighter. He pulled through the initial emergency.”

Vegard felt his knees go weak, and he slid into the chair beside his mother.

 

“He’s alive.”

 

“Yes, he is.”

 

“But?” He couldn’t miss the unspoken words in the doctor’s tone. 

 

“It might be best if you come see him.”

 

And his heart jumped into his throat again.

 

“What’s wrong with him? Did something get cut off? Is he disfigured? I don’t understand.”

 

The doctor had the audacity to chuckle as he led them out of the room. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m going to take you to him. He’s sleeping, and he has a lot of tubes and wires around him, but he’s stable right now. You can talk to him and touch him.”

 

Vegard didn’t know what he was expecting to see when he entered the room, but it was exactly as the doctor said: Bård was asleep, and there were tubes and wires everywhere. Vegard touched his hand gently, while his mother went right to stroking his cheek. He felt warm.

 

“He’s stable. So when will he wake up?” their father asked.

 

“Well, that’s the thing,” the doctor said. “He’s been stable for a number of hours now, but he hasn’t shown any signs of waking.”

 

Vegard stood up. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked, even though he didn’t need to hear it, the creeping sense of dread in his mind told him that it was.

 

“Not necessarily, but…it’s unusual.”

 

“So what can we do?” he asked. 

 

“We can wait.”

 


End file.
